Friday, April 22, 2016

It never should have been this way

It's really a remarkable thing to watch. Watching her learn to love and trust again, watching her blossom right before our eyes, watching her take risks and push herself- it's incredible. She is remarkable. Truly. But I can't help watch her and think that it never should have been this way. She should have never been here in the first place. She should have never had to cry herself to sleep in an orphanage, wondering why her father left her on a street corner that day and never came back. She should never have to be haunted with the fading memory of her mother's face. She should never have to wonder why she was the only one, and why her siblings were spared. She should have never been taken to a strange land with unfamiliar people. I am often told how fortunate she is to be with us, but I don't think I'll ever be able to agree with that statement. If she had gotten out of life what she deserved- what she was rightfully entitled to- she'd never be here today.

It's impossible to quantify the leaps and bounds we take each day with her. It's like having an 11 year-old newborn, but on warp speed: the first taste of peanut butter, the first sip of apple juice, her first time riding a bike, getting her ears pierced, coaxing her into a swimming suit for the first time, teaching her to say "thank you." Last night before bed she gave me her first real hug- the kind where she holds on a little longer and leans her head against my chest. Every day there is another "first."

I love watching her push the boundaries on her comfort zone with me too. Today I saw it as she groggily emerged from her bedroom and climbed into my bed to catch 5 more minutes of sleep, just like my other kids do when morning comes too soon. Another first. Each tiny first seems like a huge milestone.

A few weeks ago I sensed that our restrictive cocooning period was wearing on her. I feared that perhaps it would start taking the opposite effect if I carried on with it much longer. We toured the local elementary school with an interpreter and she eagerly told me she wanted to start school. Now! I hadn't planned on enrolling her until the fall, but she emphatically told me she was ready. So exactly one month after coming home, she began half days at school. It's hard for me to wrap my head around the courage it has taken her to do the things she's done over the past two months, none with the guarantee of ease or success, but all almost entirely with enthusiasm and cheerfulness,

She is astounding. Truly. She has no reason to believe that we won't betray her, that everything here isn't temporary too, just like everything else in her life used to be before we came along. She has no reason to trust us and yet somehow she does... implicitly. How she has managed to maintain a level of trust in the frailty of the human spirit alive for so many years is beyond me.

It has been one of the most incredible things I've ever seen but, like anything else that's built to last, has also had its challenges. We have moments of being tired of each other. Her new siblings get under her skin sometimes, and her heart aches for the ability to speak freely, without the confines of a language barrier... and sometimes we all just want to go back to the way things used to be when things were simpler. But like in every relationship, each challenge is part of a greater whole- a greater overall wellness. Because without these challenges, our relationship would lack roots- it would lack any depth. It's the very moments of wanting to give up, but not giving up, that help her to realize that we are here to stay, come rainbow or thunderstorm.

Yesterday evening I got a wonderful phone call from her endocrinologist- a diagnosis! Thankfully, of all the possible diagnoses that had been thrown our way, this one is the most reassuring. It's interesting how when the other possibilities are so daunting, a person can breathe a sigh of relief when they're told that all their child will need is a couple of major surgeries and life-long management and medication. But that, I can handle! The other prospects... not so much. We still have a long road ahead, but at least now that road has direction.

And so here we are, almost two months after meeting for the first time, and Dennis and I both agree that she's not the same girl we met that day in the Civil Affairs office. Her eyes are brighter and she's come alive in a different way. She's a sister, a daughter, and an integral part of a family- none of these for the first time- but now forever.